Neon Genesis Evangelion: You can (Not) Operate
by Captain Crosspost
Summary: Crossposted from the /Suptg/ Archives, Behold the absolute chaos an angry irishman can do in the world of evangelion
1. Chapter 1

You wake from the nightmare with a scream, hands twitching for a rifle that isn't there. You take a calming breath, stare at the ceiling for a single second, and then - "Fuck." It's the same dream you have every night, and it ends at precisely the same time every morning- 0512 hours. It's better than a goddamned alarm clock. You roll off the bed and head to the shower, where your morning ritual of a shit, shower, and shave carry away the remnants of sleep and the nightmare.

The rest of your morning ritual isn't as cleansing. You throw on all the accoutrements of a business suit except for a coat. That goes on after you put on a shoulder rig for your pistol, and spare magazines. Keys, phone, wallet, and you're good to go.

Considering that you're stepping from a Spartan room and into a Spartan hallway in a Spartan facility, you wonder why you even bother keeping keys on you anymore. Your feet carry you down the hall to a bank of elevators, where you select the direction you're heading for, up. The elevator dings open almost as soon as you press the button.

"Agent," your immediate boss, Captain Thierry greets you. "Have a pleasant night?"

"Yes sir," you respond quietly, wishing you had a goddamn cup of goddamn coffee to start your goddamn day and his goddamned mustache is staring at you and it's a goddamned porno mustache.

"It's about to get worse. Word from above has come down. We're swapping protection duties for the Children with Section One. The Commander doesn't think they're up to snuff." Of course not, you silently agree. Section One is good for intimidating children and conspiracy theorists. All they need to do is wear uniforms and look scary. Captain Thierry makes it even worse. "To that end, guess who drew the straw of shadowing Captain Katsuragi to pick up the Third today."

Oh goddamn it. The elevator dings, and Captain Thierry gives you a cheerful wave as you punch the doors as they close.

You ride the elevator up to the cafeteria, one level below the entrance lobby to the Geofront, two levels above Section Two's offices. This early in the morning, the cafeteria is empty save for the first bleary eyed cooks stumbling in to begin their day's labor. Someone, God bless them, got a pot of coffee going. You find a cup, somehow, and fill it to the brim. The first sip is like the nectar of the Greek gods, and leaning against a support pillar, you sigh. Now your day can begin. "Agent," someone says from behind you.

Mindful of your coffee, you turn slowly, unwilling to greet whoever it is. It's another Section Two agent. "Agent," you greet him, and he nods in confirmation.

"I heard you're riding with the TacCom to get the Third. Care to confirm or deny?" You shake your head and take another sip of coffee.

"I can neither confirm nor deny my current or future participation in events and activities involving the Third or the TacCom." You're mighty in the way of Agent-craft, mightier than this mere pleb, attempting to throw you off your morning coffee. Knowing he's outclassed by a master such as yourself, he retreats, and you enter the line for breakfast with a satisfied smirk. Now that the cooks have had time to reheat yesterday's breakfast foods while they cook most of today's, a veritable buffet spreads out before you.

"Agent Smith," you call as you head for your desk. "I need someone to drive for me. You're it." At your desk you turn on the computer monitor sitting on it, and pull up the Third's file. Pressing the print button, you shut you monitor back off and stand, to find Agent Smith shifting from foot to foot.

"Sir," he ventures warily, eying you as a young doe eyes a wolf, "sir, wouldn't a more experienced shooter be better for this operation?"

"No. You're inexperienced, I've been doing this in one form or another since 2004, during the Impact Wars. Don't be a bitch, Smith. Shut up and go get us a car from the motor pool." He swallows, nods, and leaves, doing his best to walk quietly. You open a drawer in your desk, take a nip from the flask stored there, and follow Smith up to the motor pool, warmth in your belly helping you cope.

He's silent the entire ride up to the motor pool. You are as well, and you spend the time reading the Third's file. It's nothing new. Well, at least he has decent taste in music. You let Smith pick out the car, an armored Mercedes-Benz.

The drive to the secluded campsite where the cultists have set up shop is quiet, with only the sound of the air conditioning running. Except for a few questions from Smith regarding the plan, which you answered with, "Shut up and drive, I've been doing this for ten years, I'm going to go in and shoot them," it's wonderfully peaceful, if long.

By the time you get there it's about two in the afternoon.

You step out of the car and into a deadly silent forest, as Smith's cut the engine to the car. Nodding approvingly, you slip out of your shoes and draw your pistol and a far more deadly weapon, your cellphone. Texting Smith to keep his phone on silent and not to distract you, you ready yours to speed-dial the air support all Section Two agents have access to at all times. Just in case. Dropping low, you begin shuffling forward, careful to not disturb any undergrowth or sticks on the ground.

It's silent, and not even birds are talking to each other. It's a tense walk forward, down a semi-cleared deer path. You finally make it to where the cultists are camping, and they've got a clay statue of ADAM set up. Their priest is sitting beneath, chanting something in Latin. Ignoring him, you check over numbers. There's about fifteen of them that you can see, but there might be more.

Air support's on speed-dial, Smith's back at the car, and you've got six magazines for your pistol.

You hit the "Call" button on your phone, and it connects you to UNS Panama Canal, named for the UN Peacekeeper's most successful battle, where they kept a group of Catholic insurgents from destroying the Panama Canal over a siege that lasted seven weeks. "UNS Panama Canal, thank you for calling NERV Section Two Air Support, how can we help you?"

"Afternoon, guys. Agent Declan Cryan, NERV Section Two. Authorization Code Romeo Alpha Lima Fiver Niner Six Three Seven Two Eight. Requesting two attack helicopters to come to," here you read off the map grid coordinates, "and do a little pest removal, thanks."

"Hold one minute, please, Agent Cryan." The cheerful voice switches to Muzak. You fucking hate Muzak. Thankfully, your torture is brief, before a new voice comes on the line.

"Agent Cryan, are you absolutely sure? I'm looking at satellite imagery and that doesn't, uh, look like a justified use of UN resources, Agent."

"I'm positive," you insist, and the voice sighs before telling you you'll get your air support. You place them on hold this time, and wait for the attack helicopters. Black Hawks in a gunship configuration, with missile pods on stubby wings and mini-guns hanging out the sides, proceed to turn the clearing, and statue, into so much smoking flame. You wave at the helicopters, and then there's a phone call on your cell for you.

"This is Black Eagle 1-1. How was that, Agent?"

"Pretty fuckin' awesome, Black Eagle."

"Afternoon, Captain. I hear you're expecting someone?" She glances at you from behind her sunglasses, adjusts her beret, and nods sharply.

"Not you, Agent. You know no one likes anyone from Section Two except the QRF guys." You press a hand to your breast and gasp dramatically.

"That hurts, Captain. You know I'm one of the guys that rotates on and off of the QRF, right?"

"Yes, but you're not on it right now, which is what's important. Bitch." Her tone is threatening now, and you're intelligent enough to shut up.

"Yes ma'am," you say, cowed by a superior officer getting threatening. The ruddy Third still isn't off the train yet. Wanker.

"So," you begin as you reach into an inner pocket and retrieve a lighter and metal case of cigarettes. "What do you know about the Third?" You select a cigarette, Turkish tobacco in a slim white tube with a gold circle separating the butt from the tobacco, place it in the corner of your mouth, and light it.

"Not much. He's the Commander's son," you pale noticeably at that, but make a game effort to recover, and you're fairly certain it's successful. "Psych profile states he's got problems, but then we all do. His are probably pretty serious, what with his dad abandoning him at four."

"So? My mother raised me by herself after Second Impact up until I joined the British Army. She a did a good job of it, I like to think. Sounds like a puss."

"Western ideals of manhood and Eastern ideals of manhood differ, Agent. Don't forget that. As well, the younger Ikari didn't have his mother. You did."

"So? I doubt he's seen what I saw during the Wars. Or did what I've done during the Wars. He needs to sack up and tough it out."

"We can't all be manly former Special Air Service, Cryan. Learn to empathize, you dick."

"I'll learn to empathize as soon as I'm ordered by Captain Thierry or Commander Ikari. 's not in my job description, Captain."

"Jackass," she mutters, before giving up. You flash her a shit-eating grin and she scowls. Finally, FINALLY the Third steps off the train, holding a folder and a tote-bag, wearing a backpack. Captain Katsuragi waves at him, he waves back, and you go to start the car.

It kicks on with the purr you love so well. "I'll never leave you, Mercedes. Never. You're my one true love," you declare quietly. The car doesn't respond. Just like you expected. Oh well. Katsuragi and the Third both walk up and get in the car, each quiet.

watch?v=f3t9SfrfDZM

You turn to stare at the Third from behind your sunglasses. He swallows nervously. Katsuragi looks like she wants to tell you stop intimidating a fourteen year old. She doesn't. "Buckle up, kiddo," you smile at him. He smiles back and does, indeed, buckle up. Fishing for your phone, you call NERV.

"Yo, this is Cryan. Enroute with TacCom and Third. Clear the roads, baby. We're born to run." You hang up on whoever's on the other end, and turn the radio on. Revving the engine, you turn the music up as loud as it'll go, and take off.

Both passengers begin screaming as you turn a corner on one wheel, and idly you wonder if an armored Mercedes-Benz is even supposed to be able to do that. Shrugging, you press the pedal to the floor, working every bit of speed from her that you can.

Something heavy lands beside the car with a WHUMP and it's there beside you for a moment, looking like a foot. You look in the side mirror as the car keeps screaming down the road, and quietly cross yourself. Ten fighters scream overhead, going the opposite direction.

"Poor bastards," you grunt out around the G's you're trying to pull, attempting to emulate a fighter jet. You always wanted to fly F-16s. Something huge explodes in the back ground as you're trying to eat road, and then the car is tumbling tumbling tumbling. It lands right side up, and you're pretty sure you just lost eyebrows, but thankfully your sunglasses are still intact.

You check Katsuragi, and she seems alive, and so does Ikari. Grinning, you gun the engine again, glad NERV shelled out for the roll-resistant model.

You finally make it to NERV, vehicle semi-intact, both passengers still breathing and not bleeding. Smacking Katsuragi to wake her up, she becomes alert with a jolt.

"Your lead, TacCom. What do you want me to do?" You ask, with the biggest shit-eating grin you can muster. She nods with determination as though she's made up her mind and gets out of the car while you do the same.

"Follow me. We've got to get Ikari to the Cages."While her back's turned, you hood slide over the Mercedes-Benz and pop open the door the Third's leaning against. Picking him up, you sling him over one shoulder and take off after Katsuragi, deeply regretting the loss of your eyebrows. And they were so beautiful, too.

Eventually Katuragi gets lost in the maze that is the GeoFront. Shrugging, you shoulder past her and take the lead, descending ever downwards to the ominously named Cages. Glancing down under your sunglasses, you note that the Third is oddly feminine. Huh. You just realized you were still wearing your sunglasses. Taking the opportunity, you chance a glance out the corner of your eye to Katsuragi's chest. Yeeeeeeah. That's the stuff.

Shaking your head roughly, you force your mind back on-task. Er, back to the task at hand, even. When you finally make it to the Cages, Katsuragi is panting from the pace you set and the Third is awake and you're pretty sure trying to ask you to let him down. You lift him up to where he's hanging upside down, twirl him right side up, and gently lower him to the ground. With another grin at Katsuragi, you fire off a salute in the direction you figure the Commander's in.

The Commander raises his hand slowly, and then when he drops it, you drop your salute as well. "Well done, Agent. Captain Thierry informed me of your handling of the cultists, as well. Quick and efficient. That's always needed, Agent."

"Thank you, sir," you respond, squirming on the inside to be away from his all-knowing gaze. Your attention turns to the Third when he and the Commander begin discussing piloting Unit 01. Boiling it down, it appears the Third doesn't want to drive it. If you were capable, you would love to drive it. Having the vengeance of an entire species at your command would be pretty sweet, you think.

Katsuragi and Dr. Akagi set in on the poor kid, trying to get him to drive. What you said to the TacCom at the train station was partially true, you could empathize- you'd never known your father and your mother died during the Impact Wars, leading you to join the British Army for lack of anything else to do. You discovered you were a fair hand at killing, and you've never looked back since. Except for the darkest nights and blackest moods, when you drink yourself into a stupor and throw bottles at the wall. But no one needs to know about that.

Looks like the Commander is getting ready to order the First to pilot. Due to her injuries, that would wind up with her dead. Oh sod it all.

TacCom looks slightly concerned, you can smell the fear coming off the Third, and the Commander is almost having an orgasm with how his plans are coming together. Or would be, if the man had any goddamned emotions. The Third isn't wanting to get into the robot.

"Okay," you say loudly. "Listen here, you little shit. I've been up since 5:12 this morning and I've only had one cup of coffee. You're going to get into the goddamned robot, or I'm going to put you into the goddamned robot. You're going in either way. Then you're going to kill the thing trying to kill all of us, and I'm going to buy you a goddamned beer. Now get in the GODDAMNED ROBOT!" He falls backwards, startled by your anger, but it seems to work- frightened of the foreign devil, he scrambles to try and get into the robot. You settle back onto the balls of your feet.

"Thank you, Agent," the older Ikari allows. You nod your acknowledgment, and then feel guilty for bellowing at a fourteen year old kid just trying to figure out what's going on.


	2. Chapter 2

You cast your highly intelligent, in your opinion, gaze about, searching for a vent. Aha! There's one above the elevator doors. You attempt to get the bottom two screws out so you can pop it up enough for you to crawl in, but you don't have a drill, a screwdriver, or a pocket knife to use as a screw driver. Eying the vent, and then your hands, you pull yourself up to where you're holding onto the vent with one hand, feet planted firmly against the doors. You draw your pistol with your free hand and eye the screws.

You place the barrel of the pistol against the top-left screw, flick the safety off, and pull the trigger. The report of the pistol is extremely loud in the confines of an elevator shaft, and your ears explode with ringing. Shaking your head roughly, you jam the pistol against another screw and fire again, repeating once more. One screw left, but your head is killing you now. You switch the safety back on, holster your pistol, and pull yourself all the way up.

This is a bad idea. You know this is a bad idea. You know what else was a bad idea? Joining the British Army in 2004. That was a bad idea, too, that didn't turn out so bad, in the long run. You can't successfully predict the long run, or even the short run here. Just that there's an inviting vent hole beckoning you onwards. So you climb in.

It's a decent crawl, and you're surprised the vents are big enough to fit you, but you dismiss that as happenstance. In a facility as big as the Geofront, being able to vent lots of air at once is a good idea, in case of enemy chemical weapons attack. Or using chemical weapons one's self. But that's a Really Bad Idea, so you dismiss that thought in favor of the final vent in front of you.

You're already fast headed down the path to tinnitus, might as well go whole hog. You carefully crawl backwards a little, draw your pistol, and fire four times.

Now your ears are quite literally trying to kill you. But on the plus side, vent's busted out. You holster the pistol, crawl forward, and shimmy out of the vent, trying not to land on your head. Instead you land on your back with a crack. Staring at the oddly orange-looking ceiling for a moment, you marshal your will, and force yourself up.

To be confronted with a nightmare. Ears ringing, back aching, there's a voice in the back of your head, a rough scent in your nostrils, and a taste filling your mouth. It sounds like your mother, smells like lavender and laundry detergent, the scent of your mother, and the taste is chocolate chip cookies that are slightly burnt, but still delicious because Mother baked them. Eyes widening, you stumble backwards, pushing your back against the wall. You slide down, one hand holding your head and begin screaming, a wordless noise that erupts from your diaphragm. You draw your pistol and empty the last nine shots in it at the Angel because that's what it's got to be. All of them slide off an invisible wall in front of it.

'Where one bullet doesn't work, always apply more,' the helpful voice of the Sergeant that conducted your basic training pipes up, and you comply, burning through the remaining five magazines as fast as you can, before settling for throwing the empty gun and magazines at it even as you attempt to gibber something defiant in the face of mankind's enemy. Then something slams into the back of your skull and you know blackness.

When you wake the Subcommander is sitting next to you, reading something. You can't tell what, though. The hospital bed is warm in the artificial sunlight, but at the sight of the Subcommander himself sitting next to your hospital bed, your blood runs cold. When he sees you've awakened, he closes his book and holds up a hand.

"We don't want to know what you were doing down there, Agent. The drawbacks of employing highly intelligent people is that often, they're highly curious. This turned out to be your case. Yes, we have an Angel in our basement. No, it cannot harm us. Yes, we're going to use it to lure the rest of the Angels to us. No, we don't know how many there are. This siege of humanity could last forever. Which is where you come in. You've stumbled upon a secret, Agent. The Commander doesn't like people knowing his secrets, but nor does he like having to lose highly intelligent, highly capable people with backgrounds in the SAS and the like. It's extremely hard to recruit those types, as most aren't willing to part with families. We understand that. We understand you have no family worth mentioning left."

His tone so far has been friendly, even grandfatherly, but here it turns cold as he leans forward. "So, Agent. You never descended past Level 90 of the Geofront. You were on Level 90 to investigate a noise that turned out to be a rat. You never saw anything of vital importance to the future of humankind. You never fired six magazines, then proceeded to throw the magazines and pistol at the nonexistent secret. Things are secret for a reason. The nonexistent secret below Level 90 will remain precisely that, or we'll have you woken up in the middle of the night with a bullet in your skull."

"Have a good evening, Agent." You swallow heavily as soon as he's gone and let your head thump against the pillow. If that's what the Subcommander was like, you didn't want to know what the Commander was like when angry. The ceiling is a featureless mass of white, but that doesn't matter. You definitely will not be sticking your nose past Level 90 again.

You try to sleep. You really do. But whenever you close your eyes the smell of your mother lingers in your nose, you can hear her voice in your ears, and your hand longs for the familiar comfort of a firearm. Slipping out of the bed, you find a freshly laundered suit of clothing, including underwear, socks, and shoes sitting next to your shaving kit on another chair, in the corner. Desperate for a shave and a shower, you grab all of it. Underneath there's a note. "Three days enforced sick leave. Come back with your head on straight. - Commander."

Swallowing grimly, you thank your lucky stars you weren't taken to an incinerator, shot, and your body dumped into the flames. You've done it yourself, to a mole in Section Two from Russia. It's all too easy for bodies to 'disappear' when there's no family or friends to worry. NERV loves maladjusted young men with quick minds and quicker trigger fingers.

You make your way to a locker room. It's empty. You place your clothing on a bench and take your shaving kit with you into the shower, where it's mercifully hot, as you try to scrub the fear-smell off of yourself. Finally satisfied, you shave quickly before emerging into the steam, where you towel off quickly and dress. Leaving the hospital gown in the locker, you head for an elevator. You need fresh air, and you're not going to get that in the Geofront.

The elevator has someone in it, a Japanese man with a five o'clock shadow and casually rumpled shirt. "So you know," he says quietly, under the Muzak playing over the Elevator's speakers.

"I don't know anything," you reply just as quietly, hoping to the God you're not sure if you believe in anymore he'll shut up.

"That sure is some nothing, huh, Agent?" He's a persistent bugger, but maybe if you're silent he'll go away. "What you need to do, Agent, is forget about it." Yes, that's precisely what you're trying to do. Orders from the Commander himself are like orders from the Pope. You don't disregard them. At all.

"But always be asking one thing, Agent: What's humanity's future worth?" The elevator slides to a halt with a ding, he steps out, and you watch him walk away as the doors close. The elevator resumes the smooth glide upwards, and you feel naked without a pistol, but there's nowhere to really conceal one with what you're wearing, khakis and a short sleeved button-down shirt. You'll retrieve one from a dead drop in the city later. Right now you need a bit of everything.

You know a decent English-style pub that's got mighty cheeseburgers. Despite being English, the Paddy's Lament also serves a decent Scotch. You need food, and you can't think of anything better than a thick, greasy, piping hot, thick burger patty or two with about four slices of cheese on a lightly toasted bun with bacon. And the bottle of Scotch. That's definitely the most important thing right now.

To that end, you head for the motor pool. You threaten the hapless clerk with dunking his head in a urinal until he gives what you want, a fast motorcycle that can hit about 200 miles per hour and a pistol in the center, between the handlebars.

You take the scenic route to the Lament, ignoring traffic laws, cops, and speed limits, hoping the rush of the road and the wind in your face will help clear your head. It does, surprisingly, and you take the opportunity to review what you know:  
1\. NERV is dedicated to the destruction of the Angels, the beings that caused Second Impact, and preventing Third Impact.  
2\. NERV's oversight is headed by the Committee for the Human Instrumentality Project.  
3\. There's an Angel in the basement.  
4\. You're not paid to think about this shit, you're paid to kill people when they need killing and protect the Geofront against hostile infantry.

Yeah. If NERV wants to keep an Angel in the basement, that's up to the higher ups. You're just following orders. (You know that shit didn't fly when Hitler's dudes tried it, but you're also not an officer any more, and that lack of responsibility for others is refreshing.)

The rest of the ride passes smoothly and you arrive at the Lament with a minimum of fanfare. Taking the pistol from its slot in between the console, you slide it into the back of your waistband, before sticking the two extra magazines in your pockets. You enter the Lament and are greeted with a chorus of jeers from the patrons and the proprietor.

"Shut up, shut up," you demand good naturally, before taking a seat at the bar. "Tricky Dicky," you bellow. "I need a bottle of your cheapest Scotch and I need a genuine Tricky Dicky burger, as soon as possible." The patrons, mainly American and British expats in Tokyo-3 for NERV, go back to their conversations and the rugby game on the television as Richard finds a bottle of fresh Scotch, probably not more than a week old for you.

"Be about eight minutes on the burger, hoss," he informs you. Then he jerks his head to the side and you look over. It's Captain Katsuragi, with some of that shitty Japanese beer no one likes.

"DICK," you yell at him, right in front of you, as he's trying to fix another patron's margarita. "I need a, a uh, shit, a stout from the Auld Sod for the pretty lady next to me. Not that local piss she's drinking."

"The Auld Sod, as you call it, you goddamned Mick, is drowned, like Florida and New Orleans and London, after Second Impact. Get out of here with that "Auld Sod" business, you're more British than Irish." But he complies, complaining the entire time. Katsuragi shoots you a look, but you wink, and finish with Dick, first.

"Dick," you lean forward conspiratorially. "I'm from Northern Ireland." He erupts into sputters of outrage, bushy eyebrows seeming to become even bushier underneath his cap, before he glares at you with hate-filled eyes one final time, and sidles down the bar, so he can ignore you. You turn to the Captain, and grin easily.

"Afternoon, Cap'n. How'd the fight go?" It's an innocent question, you think, considering you were unconscious for at least two hours.

"Badly until the Eva went berserk and killed the Angel with almost no trouble. Up until that point, Shinji seemed to think you could have helped him somehow."

You scoff. "All I did was yell at him until he got in the goddamned robot." Dick walks up with Katsuragi's drink, a stout from England, flown over on ice, and places it in front of her.

"Well, his synch score was a little over forty-nine percent, so whatever you did seemed to have worked." She's slurring a little, but nothing serious. She's probably only two drinks or so in.

"Huh," you say noncommittally. "So I found a thing," you lead in with. She turns to look at you, takes a sip of her drink, and trails her eyes down your figure. You want to squirm uncomfortably for a moment, but knock back another shot of the Scotch.

"Is this a thing I can find," she asks, and she's probably drunker than you realized. With frantic motions, you beckon Dick over.

"How long has she been here, damn it?"

"Oh, I'd say about four hours." You cross yourself at that, and then Katsuragi's trying to drape herself across from you.

"Nope," you say adamantly. "Despite there being no fraternization rules for Section Two and Command Staff, I'm not going to take advantage of a drunk woman. Christ, is there anyone I can call for you?" Katsuragi shakes her head, and begins insisting loudly you call her Misato.

"Christ," you swear. "I'll call you goddamned Misato. Can I eat my goddamned burger?" She nods at you and when it arrives, you stare it sadly, before cutting it in half with a knife and fork. Then you jam one half into your mouth and begin chewing as fast as humanly possible.

"Arghlghle garghle," you tell Dick, and he stares at you, even as you're bringing the second half up to your mouth while you're still swallowing the first part of the burger. Slowly, he crosses himself as you swallow the second half, leaving only the tomatoes. You hate goddamned tomatoes.

Snagging your bottle of Scotch in one hand, you pick Misato up bridal style and carry her to her car. Lighting up a smoke, you run the driver's seat of her car back and slide in, cigarette dangling from your mouth. The drive back is silent, as you think she's sleeping and you don't want to wake her.

The apartment building is quiet this time of the day, around ten PM, and you wonder where everyone is. Then you remember that Captain Thierry had everyone other than Misato rounded up and moved to different apartment buildings, so he could place teams in each apartment surrounding her's in every direction.

You carry her up the stairs the same way you got her out to her car, and you're trying to figure out how to pick her lock when you remember you've got her keys in your hand. Feeling not quite as intelligent as you usually do, you get the door open and manage to find her bedroom, trying not stumble over her mess. You place her on the futon and you're about to turn and leave when a quiet voice interrupts you.

"Please don't leave."

Shrugging, you agree. "I'll stay, then. I won't be coming back into your room, but I'll be out here." Something approximating acceptance emerges from her bed, and you cover her up before leaving the room quietly. Taking a sip from your Scotch bottle, you settle yourself onto Misato's couch and begin perusing late night television, wondering why there were only infomercials. Eventually you settle onto a History channel, discussing the First World War, and sit there in the dark of a woman's apartment, your only company a bottle of Scotch, the television, and your thoughts. Until-

"Wark." Turning only your head, you stare. It's a penguin. And not even an Emperor penguin. It's some kind of messed up. There's only one thing to do. Slowly, eyes locked, you take a sip from your Scotch bottle.

"Sup," you greet. "Want some?" You offer the mouth of the bottle to the penguin, and it steps forward. It sticks its beak into the mouth, tilts its head back, and proceeds to finish your bottle of Scotch. "'s cool," you offer. "I didn't need to get drunk anyway. Someone's gotta make sure Misato in there doesn't drown in her own puke."

"Wark," offers the penguin, and you nod in appreciation at its sage word of wisdom. It settles onto the couch next to you, and you begin to pet it.

"Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if I had been crippled by that grenade during the Wars," you say quietly. "I like to think I'd have bounced back, but there are some nights where I wake up and I can't feel my leg. That's scary shit, little penguin buddy."

"Wark," it says, seeming to enjoy being petted.

"Yeah."

When you wake up, Misato is standing over you. The History channel is still playing, there's still a penguin sitting next to you on her couch, and your back isn't doing you any favors.

In a man's life, it's odd times for him to wake up with a superior officer standing over him, wearing really short jean shorts, and a very revealing T-shirt. It's odd for him to wake up next to a penguin, with the History channel on. In these times, there is only one clear option for a man to take. You pick up the penguin, shove him into Misato's arms, and dive over the back of the couch.

"I NEVER MEANT TO PROPOSE LIKE THAT, I'M SO SORRY!" Something flies over your head, 'wark'ing angrily. Scrambling backwards, you try to offer a compliment, to appease the angry superior officer hungering for your blood. "You look good with bedhead?" A Scotch bottle rockets overhead, clocking in at you're sure is 100 miles per hour. Diving for the bathroom, you offer, "Morning. Sleep well?"

A cast iron skillet thuds into the wall beside you. Goddamn, the Dallas Rangers should get this woman to pitch for them. "THE PENGUIN," you try to scream as manfully as possible, "CAN VOUCH FOR MY ACTIONS. And if he says otherwise, he's a dirty goddamn liar!"

Nothing works. There is no stopping Misato on her bloody quest for your is nowhere left. There is nothing to do. She is coming. Vengeance and blood will be her's, you can hear her padding quietly to the bathroom door RIGHT NOW.

What.

You grab the iron skillet and head for the bathroom window. It's just big enough for you to dangle half-way in, half-way out. "Misato. MISATO. You asked me to stay! I certainly didn't invite myself to stay. I was going to take a train back to the Lament and have another burger and more Scotch. I certainly didn't want to wind up sleeping next to a penguin, which, by the way, is pretty cool."

She comes through the door, holding a can of that Japanese brew she seems to love so much. "You," she pointed a deadly finger at you, "will explain to me why you felt it acceptable to stay."

"You asked me to," you insist, getting angry yourself. "Christ, I could have been doing paperwork, I could have been out following a cult or something, I could have been buying the Third that beer I said I owed him. But nooooo, Tactical Commander Captain Katsuragi wants me to stay! Shit's not a goddamn game," you finish lamely, your anger leaving just as suddenly as it came. You want a drink. You want a cigarette, you want to fight something, anything.

Pulling yourself back into the bathroom, you stand as far from her as possible, watching her warily. She seems to have deflated as well. "You're right," she finally offers. "It was wrong of me to get angry. Please- please go." Dropping the skillet, you push past her and out the apartment. You stop suddenly, and turn.

"I'm not an enemy, Captain. Just because I don't have a country anymore doesn't mean I don't have a heart."


	3. Chapter 3

You're standing in a public restroom in front of a urinal, which is considerably cleaner than you were expecting. It's too early in the morning to be drinking. Not really, though. You found a twenty-four hour liquor store and a couple bottles of Scotch. Self-medication is a wonderful thing, you think, as you start to piss.

Then you feel something sharp poking you in the back of the neck, as a hand slowly withdraws the pistol from the back of your waistband.

"Do not move, Agent. I will not hesitate to stab you." You look at the metal handle for the urinal, to flush it. The man standing behind is taller and looks about twenty pounds heavier. Dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, undoubtedly he's been tailing you for a while, as you tried to clear your head from the argument with Captain Kats- Misato. She wanted you to call her Misato.

"Mornin', mate. Is that a knife you're holding or are you just happy to see me?"

"All right, Agent. That is enough of your wit. Now is not the time."

"Well, mate, if now's not the time, when is?" With a sigh of contentment, you finish taking your leak, shake, and zip up. "I'm moving my hand to flush, fella." He takes a step backwards to allow you to flush, and you spin, knocking the hand with the knife aside. He takes another step backwards and you move to fill in the gap, throwing a punch at his head. He moves aside, and steps forward, bringing the knife too close for either of you to use.

Good, you think. You're former fucking SAS and Royal Irish Regiment. The Royal Irish had breached Monrovia in Liberia even before Second Para, and it hadn't been a firefight. It had been close in bayonet fighting, and then, as now, you knew they wouldn't have the stomachs for it. You bring your knee up between the man's legs and he stumbles backwards briefly, and you use the opportunity to slam your forehead into his nose. He swears, in Russian, you dimly recognize, but it's no matter.

He's dropped the knife now, and you seize him by the front of the shirt with one hand and drive him backwards, free hand a fist and pounded into his nose. He stumbles on something and you both tumble through the drywall separating the male's room from the female's. A woman looks up to the mirror from washing her hands, utters a small shriek, and runs out, leaving you alone. Well, with the unknown Russian. Lifting him up as he attempts to struggle out of your grasp, you run his head into the mirror, shattering it and stunning him, and shove his head into the water.

You wait for a moment, and then jerk his head from the overflowing sink, and ram it into the mirror again.

"Who sent you? Wer hat geschickt Sie?" You repeat the question in Japanese, but the man merely grins at your reflection in the cracked mirror. Swearing, you shove his head back into the water.

"Agent Cryan." You turn your head to look to the side and see Rei Ayanami, watching hold a choking, drowning man's head under water. She appears oddly unconcerned. "What are you doing, Agent Cryan?"

"Interrogating a man," you tell her. "He doesn't want to talk." She nods noncommittally and enters one of the several stalls, and you turn back to the man. He surprises you by driving an elbow into your groin, and you stumble backwards, one hand dropping low to try and protect your equipment.

"Agent Cryan. My superiors," the man gasps out around his broken face, "are very interested in NERV and what goes on there." He pulls a pistol, and you feel stupid for not thinking to check him for one, or two, but then a blur passes in front of you and the man yelps and drops the pistol.

You step forwards as Rei steps backwards from the man, and you don't question how she managed to move so quickly. You reach down and lift him up again, before turning him to let him face Rei.

"This, Rei, is how you interrogate a Russian agent. Russia picks her agents generally based on love for the Motherland. Now, can you do me a favor and go find a car battery and connector cables?" She nods, and the agent begins blubbering something about electricity and Treaties or Conventions. You're not sure, it's Russian, and you don't speak Russian.

"We'll start with something small, while the girl's gone. What's your name?"

The agent mutters something about the Rodina, and you're sick of him speaking Russian. Angrily, you toss him into one of the stalls, where his head thumps against the toilet.

"No Russian! Stop speaking fucking Russian or I'll castrate you in front of a fourteen year old girl," you yell, and the combined threats of castration and electricity serve to loosen his tongue.  
"Aksyonov. I am Beria Aksyonov of GRU, what you know as Main Intelligence Directorate of the Russian Federation!"

"Is that so? Who's your chief-of station? Are you an illegal?" You're referring to illegal agents placed in country with enough cover to pass muster, and used to infiltrate organizations like the American FBI or CIA, or your own British MI5 and MI6. He shakes his head at your question.

"No, no! I have diplomatic immunity, I am only here for this mission. My chief-of-station is Aleksandr Ivanovich Chesnokov, he will tell you I have immunity!"

You've got a name and an agency that you can hunt down, now. You've worked with less, before.

"What's your mission, Aksyonov? What's Russia's game?"

"The pilots of the Evas- if we can kidnap them, we can force the UN to force NERV to hand the Eva units over to us. We don't want a German armor division advancing on Moscow lead by Unit 02."

You brain the man once more, knocking him unconscious, and sling him over your shoulder. You snatch his pistol, a Makarov, and your own, back up, and then exit the restrooms to wait for Rei.

She arrives, toting a car battery and connector cables.

"Is this what you needed, Agent Cryan?" You nod affirmatively.

"Yup, good girl. Come along, then. We're going to dump this ruddy wanker off at Section Two's cells, and then we're taking a trip to see the chief-of-station for the Russian."

"Chief-of...station?" She asks, and you realize no one bothered to inform her about espionage and what not.

"Head spy in one country for another country. For example, if we had our own two countries, I might be chief-of-station for my nation in your nation, with cover as a minor diplomat or some such job." She's a bright girl, she'll get it. "In the mean-time, you know what makes a man talk? Castration, or threatening it. Beria here sung like a bird once I threatened him with castration AND electricity. Presumably he enjoys sex."

You fish your cellphone from a pocket and dial the Section Two agents supposed to be watching Rei right now. The voice that answers you is bleary and sounds tired, and mumbles something about 'too early in the morning.'

"Oi, cunt, it's six-thirty, I've been up since four, and just did your job for you. I need a ride for the Russian agent I'm toting and you let get too close to the First. So shove your whining or I'll shove a foot up your arses, got it?"

"Yessir," the agent grumbles wearily. A gray sedan pulls around the corner, and you shove Beria into it, along with his pistol and passport.

"Said something about his mission being to kidnap the Children. I'd inform the Commander about this and recommend he jump the Second Child's timeline up by about three weeks or so." Both agents, the driver, and gunman if needed, nod and say they will.

The sedan drives off, and you turn to Rei. "Let's find a train. We've got to figure out where the Russian Embassy is."

Taking your cell phone, you call the switchboard operator. Switchboards are only still a thing because of situations like this- namely, Section Two agents needing to get to someone or somewhere or call them, and frankly it's helpful. These days they're more like glorified help desks, but they've kept the title of switchboard operators.

"Operator here. How may I help you?"

"I need to get to the Russian Embassy. Can you be a darling and look it up right quick for me?" She responds with an affirmative hum. While you shift from foot to foot impatiently and Rei stands impassively, you regret not wearing shorts. It's getting hot out, even though it's only about eight in the morning.

"The Russian Embassy is located in the Central District of Tokyo-2. Hours are from nine in the morning to seven at night. Russian citizens are always welcome. Russia requests that you go unarmed."

"Thanks." Then you hang up. "Tctch. Unarmed? They wish." You call a cab for yourself and Rei, and she's quiet the entire ride to the station, and simply stares out the window at the passing city scape.

"Agent Cryan," she finally says. "Why do you put yourself at risk like what you did earlier?"

"I've been fighting for quite a while, you know," you mutter. Ayanami shakes her head at you.

"No. I did not know."

"Huh. Well, yeah. Twelve years. Originally I joined the British Army to get away from the hunger and devastation following Second Impact. In the Royal Irish I found brotherhood and friends, and we fought for the man next to us, not high ideals."

She's looking at you like she wants you to continue, so you do, feeling uncomfortable with this discussion of why you get up every morning and put on a gun and Kevlar vest. 'Accommodate all reasonable requests from the First, Second, and Third,' standing orders say. This isn't really classifiable as unreasonable, is it?

"Then I wound up in the SAS, and again, it was for the man next to you. I spent from 2011 to 2014 as a mercenary with a German outfit out of Stuttgart, and that wasn't... that wasn't like the Royal Irish and Special Air Service. It was a bad time, for me, I guess"

"But this? NERV? Waking up every morning and stopping a cult or madman from taking over a mall and slaughtering the shoppers? That's worth something, Rei. Hell, you drive a giant robot against things that man wasn't meant to ken of, and you're fourteen. If anyone's a big damn hero, it's you and Ikari."

She falls silent and so do you. The train is empty at this time, between the men out to work and the women out to shop, and there's only the sound of the train and the-

"Goddamned Muzak," you snarl, lips curled into a frown.

"The next stop will be Tokyo-2. Please stay seated until the train comes to a complete halt." Rei frowns at you for a moment. You shrug at her, and stand in defiance of the request from the loudspeakers.

Eventually the train halts, and you realize you're in Tokyo-2 in pursuit of Russia's chief spy, with a fourteen year old blue-haired girl with red eyes. And only one pistol. That last has got to change before you go 'talk' to Aleksandr.

Snapping your fingers, you grin, and pull out your phone once more. Handy things, cell phones. It connects to the number you dial, and a voice that longs desperately for sleep answers. Too bad, Dick, you need guns.

"Dick. It's Dec. I'm fixing to hit the Russian Embassy. You know anyone in Tokyo-2 I can talk to hook me up with firearms? I'll get our Embassy to give me the rifles."

"Declan, Declan, Declan. Next time I see you, your tab is due, motherfucker. I am sick and tired of you never paying, drinking me out of bar and grill, and never actually picking up half the birds you chat up, you bastard."

"Dick," you proclaim loudly into the phone, now positive he's got a hangover, "I love you too. What can your guys hook me up with?"

"7.62 NATO or 5.56 NATO, or 7.62x39. Your choice." You're positive you hear a muttered 'motherfucker' on the other end.

"Guns first, I think, Dick, but gonna go with a tentative 7.62 or 5.56 NATO, first. Have your guys meet me outside our Embassy."

"All right, Dec. Don't forget your tab. Or I will eat you, you son of a bitch."

"On me mother's grave, Dick, I'll remember me tab. Don't get your knickers in a twist, you slag." Then you hang up on him before he can say anything else. Turning to Rei, she's still staring at you, as though the conversation she had just overheard had never happened. That's when you realize she doesn't speak English. Mouth trying to twitch into a grin, you set off for the British Embassy, and Rei follows along.

When you arrive at the Embassy, it's quite quiet, with only muted phone conversations and the clacking of keyboards to indicate the people inside are alive. You manage to avoid the metal detectors, which would have been set off by your pistol, and look for the front desk. You sidle up to it when you find it, doing your best to remain inconspicuous, Rei trailing along behind you.

"Ah, excuse me, miss," you cough in English, startling the girl behind the computer monitor. "I need to speak to the head of security and the Ambassador, please." You slide your passport over the top of the metal and glass desk, and she nods quietly when she sees it.

"Right this way, sir. If your companion would follow me, I'll get her something to drink?"

"Go ahead, Rei. You're safe here. Should be, at least." Rei nods and follows the girl, and you stop to admire the view as they walk away, before a cough interrupts you. It's the Ambassador and head of security, Sir John Langely and Major Donald Kincaid, respectively. You exchange greetings and handshakes with them, and you can tell Sir John saw combat, probably the First Gulf War or Falklands, while Major Kincaid fought in the Impact Wars. Both men have the same set of the shoulders, tilt of the head, and look in the eye.

"Gentlemen, a pleasure to meet you. The Russians just tried to abduct the pilots of Evangelion Units 01 and 02. NERV would very much like to speak with their Chief-of-Station. I'm going to walk into their embassy, find him, and drag him back out. Frankly, I would appreciate any support and weaponry you can offer." Sir John, a tall, languid man with a shock of the gray hair found almost exclusively on redheads, nods slowly. Major Kincaid grins.

"Good God, man. You've bollocks the size of a lion's. Of course we'll help you, won't we, Sir John?"

"Of course we'll help the Leftenant, Major. He's doing the King's work, even without working for the King! I'll contact the Prime Minister and see if we can't move the timeline for the Fourth's journey to Japan up. Having them all in one country would be an aid indeed, wouldn't it? And bugger the Russians. Bastards tried to grab Finland again during the Impact Wars. What have we got in the way of assets the Leftenant can use, Major?"

"Well, there's firearms, of course. And some gear he might find familiar from his SAS days, at that." The grin the Major is giving you is familiar. And that's when you recognize him.

"Captain Kincaid! We thought we'd lost you when you lost your leg! Goddamn, man, how have you been?" He laughs and wards off the bear hug you try to embrace him.

"Well enough, Leftenant, well enough. Now, about that gear?" You shake hands with the Ambassador one more time, and let Major Kincaid lead you out, walking remarkably well for a man with an artificial leg. He leads you to the armory room, where Rei is waiting for you, sipping orange juice. "You've taken care of ammunition for yourself, then?" You nod at his question, and begin shucking out of your current clothing.

"Now then. We've got L85A2s, as well as a few H&K MP5s, or, if that's your game, -416s."

"L85A2, sir. I've spent more time with it than with either of the others, seeing as how most of my time in the service was spent with the Irish."

"No suppressor, then. Just as well, the Russians need to know that this kind of devilry won't be unpunished. Try not to kill anyone, Leftenant. I'll leave you to it. There's a helicopter that'll take you to the Russian's building, and pick you up. From there we'll have a car take you back to Tokyo-3 with your new friend."

"Wonderful, Major, wonderful. Thank you, sir."

"No need to thank me, Cryan. You're the one sticking your neck out once more, after all. Good luck, then." You throw on the black clothing and tactical vest provided, along with a black hood and boots.

"Are you trained on firearms, Rei?"

"Not human sized ones, Agent Cryan. However, the principles should transfer."

"Major Kincaid, can you do me another favor?"

"Watch the First for you, correct?"

"Right, sir. Right, Rei, stay with the Major. He'll protect you and hopefully the UN will look at this like the UK taking her obligations to this whole NERV business serious."

"Good luck, then, Leftenant. Go on, girl, say good luck to the Leftenant," he adds in Japanese, for Rei.

She looks uncertain for a moment, then- "Good luck, Agent Cryan." Shooting her a grin, you leave the armory and move down the hall to another room, where the two men Dick sent are waiting. They look over you once, then cross themselves.

"Christ, Cryan, you look like something out of Da's tales about the SAS coming across the border for him or Uncle Mike," the shorter, fatter one tells you.

"Well, considering I was SAS, Paddy..."

"Christ, Dec, don't remind me." He crosses himself again, then slides a black briefcase across the table. "We knew about your history, so Timmy and I figured you'd want something you were familiar with. Inside that's a bayonet and magazines for your L85, mate."

"Thanks, Paddy." You fill the pouches on your vest with the clips, then the cargo pockets on the side of your pants.

The walk to the helicopter pad is... Familiar. Infiltrating a country illegally, getting help from the criminal underworld or the local American or British embassy, doing something that would cause lots of issues if anyone ever found out what'd been done...

Yeah. It feels familiar as shit, and you don't know if that should scare you or excite you. The helicopter ride, in the meantime, is odd, since it's a new type of bird, one you've never seen before. And before you know it, you're sitting on the edge of the passenger area of the bird as it hovers over the Russian embassy, legs dangling out.

"Drop me through the skylight, Cap'n. I've got a statement to make." The building is a four-story square affair, with one center lobby in the center, a skylight on the roof, and the necessary rooms and whatnot surrounding that center. You take a flashbang and your pistol, pull the pin on the flashbang, shoot the skylight out, and drop the non-lethal grenade.

"Oh my beautiful boy, I'm so proud of you." You look up in haste, and see... Nothing. You look around, and still nothing. But it was your mother's voice. It had to be, only she called you 'beautiful boy'.

"Fuck," you swear. You've got a job to do. Swearing again, you cross yourself, and drop out of the bird on the dangling rope next to you. You descend, and for a moment, it feels like you're sitting in midair, with nothing between you, the sky, and God. Except God's abandoned Earth, and you. Just like Da-

No. You're not going there. There's too much to do, too much on the line. You hit the ground with a thud and let go of the rope, bringing your L85A2 up and to bear on the first armed person you spot.

"Aleksandr Chesnokov!" You scream in English. "Aleksandr! We need to talk!"

To the armed man, you mime dropping a rifle with one hand, and he gets the hint, before slowly backing up. In the center of the lobby, there's a group of eight computer desks forming a square, with gaps in it to allow people to walk in and out of their work station.

You keep your rifle trained on the fellow that had just disarmed himself and head for the nearest door. You turn, kick it open, and barrel through right after the door, and find-

An empty office, probably used for interviews or something of the sort. You head for the next one to the right, and do the same. This time there's someone in there. Asking, "Aleksandr Chesnokov?" gets you a shaken head, but a finger pointing upwards. Nodding thanks, you head for the stairs. No one in the center lobby has moved from where they're either holding their head in their hands, or sitting there watching you in shocked silence. You find the stairs fairly easily, thanking Christ that someone laid this place out intelligently, and receive a phone call.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out the cell phone and answer, not taking your eyes off the way upwards. You took the stairs instead of elevator because the elevator is an easier chokepoint to hold. But then, really, so are stairs.

"Hello?"

"Agent Cryan. Please explain to me why you are armed, in the Russian Embassy, and clearing rooms on international television."

Oh. Oooooh shit.

"Uh, Commander, I can explain."

"Please, Agent, please explain. I would love to hear this. So would the Subcommander. And the Tactical Commander. And the Head of Project E. And Captain Thierry."

"Removing a high-risk threat to the saviors of humanity's future, sah. Information acquired from Beria Aksyonov, an illegal Russian agent, has lead me to believe the Russians intend to abduct and secure the First through Fourth Children in order to use them as security against the Evangelion program and the United Nations. I also suggest you form a probe to investigate why, precisely, an armed Russian agent was within twenty feet of the First Child. Sir."

There's silence on the line for a moment, and then-

"Very well. Continue. Minimize casualties, Agent."

"Very good, sir." The line cuts off, and you add- "Shall I fetch you some fucking tea, sir?" You receive a text. It's a curt 'No.' Ignoring how horrifying the prospect is that the Commander can hear everything you say, you continue up the stairs, still strangely empty. Then you round the final corner and find yourself face to face with a Russian VDV trooper. You fire, he fires.

His round misses. Yours doesn't. He drops backwards, and you bull forward. There's no one else up there. Turning, you kick the door to the second landing in and see a man holding a revolver of some kind to the forehead of a secretary.

"So, Agent Cryan, we meet. I see you have managed to discover my identity as Station chief. It is not of mattering. You will be dead, soon, I think."

"Right, then. Let the girl go and I won't shoot you, and we can go have a nice talk back at base..."

"No, I don't think so. You will drop the rifle, Agent, and step forward."


End file.
